Perspective
by angelsdemonsducks
Summary: It starts with a fight, one of those awful ones that leaves Dick red and shaking and Damian glaring and Bruce doing his best imitation of a stone wall. "I'm going after him," Tim says, though no one seems to be paying attention to him.


It starts with a fight, one of those awful ones that leaves Dick red and shaking and Damian glaring and Bruce doing his best imitation of a stone wall. He doesn't know what it was about, having only arrived in time to catch the tail end of it, but when Tim meets Alfred's eyes across the cave, the man looks so old and tired and sad, and for a moment Tim hates everyone here, hates them for putting an expression like that on Alfred's face.

Alfred deserves so much better than them.

"I'm going after him," Tim says, though no one seems to be paying attention to him. They rarely do these days, though that's something he tries not to think about because it makes him sound like a needy brat. He doesn't need to have their attention 24/7, he's not a twelve-year-old girl like Damian is.

He imagines Damian in pigtails. The image almost lightens his mood.

Almost.

* * *

He finds him sitting on the roof of a warehouse overlooking the pier. The sun set long ago, so it's not a particularly striking view, but Jason seems content to watch the dark waters lapping up against the docks, smoke curling from his lips in a steady stream.

"I thought you quit," Tim says, coming to sit beside him.

Jason doesn't visibly react, only giving him a sideways glance. He rolls the cigarette between his fingers, drumming his fingers absently on the helmet beside him. "What are you doing here?" he asks. The anger that pervaded his voice and bearing only half an hour ago seems to have vanished, replaced with a weariness that Tim doesn't like. Not coming from Jason.

"I wanted to make sure you were alright," Tim replies, and Jason laughs.

"I'm always alright, aren't I?" he says. His smile does not reach his eyes.

"No, not always," Tim states, keeping his tone even. "And you shouldn't have to be, either."

The corners of Jason's mouth tilt up in a way that's a little more genuine than before. "No?" he asks. "Huh. You know, it's kinda ironic that you're the one I get along with the best, don't you think?"

It really is, considering how they first met. Tim shrugs. "You know they all care about you, right?" he checks. "Even Damian… I think. Hard to tell with that one."

"I know," Jason says. "You think I don't? Believe me, this would be a whole lot easier if we hated each other." He takes another drag from his cigarette, lowering his head so that his bangs fall in front of his eyes. The white streak of hair glows almost silver in the moonlight.

Tim waits.

"I know damn well what everyone thinks of me," Jason says at length. "Not now, I mean, but when I was Robin." He smirks. "Reckless, impulsive, et cetera. Angry, too, and I guess that's true enough. But I know what else they say."

Tim stares at him with a mixture of anticipation and dread.

"They say that you shouldn't be like me," he continues, his voice picking up in speed and volume. "That I jumped in when I should have waited and I got myself killed. That it was… that it was my fault that I died."

Tim stiffens. Jason gives him a wry glance.

"Don't try to deny it, baby bird. You know it's true. Oh, they never say it outright, but it's what they imply. They say that my recklessness got me killed, or my anger. You know what no one ever says? That I got killed because the Joker fucking blew me up." He scowls and throws his cigarette to the ground, where it peters out and stops smoking. The hand that was holding it clenches into a fist and comes down to rest on his knee. "They never… they don't…"

"Hey," Tim says softly. "You want to talk about it?"

Jason looks at him, aquamarine eyes narrowed in an emotion that is somewhere between anger and suspicion. After a moment, he looks away again, staring out at the sky. It is a cloudless night, and the stars shine brightly, tiny pinpricks of light on an inky black canvas. Slowly, he relaxes, his shoulders becoming less tense. The drumming on his helmet stops.

"It didn't happen like everybody describes it," he starts with uncharacteristic hesitance, as if he thinks Tim will shut him down or start arguing with him. "I didn't just go… charging in there, guns blazing."

"Not like these days," Tim can't help but say, and Jason rolls his eyes.

"Yeah," he agrees. "Not like that. When my mom… when Sheila first left with the Joker, I went and got Bruce. I wasn't stupid, I knew I couldn't handle the Joker on my own. But then, when we got to that warehouse…" He trails off, gaze going unfocused. "Bruce had to go and stop a shipment of toxins. He told me to wait. And I guess I should've. But…" He pauses. Tim resists the urge to put a hand on his. "She stepped outside of the warehouse, alone. And I thought I could talk to her, that I could help her get out of whatever the Joker had on her. And she said that she had something to show me, inside the warehouse. I asked about the Joker, but… she said… she said that he had left. That he wasn't…" He trails off again, shaking his head and looking so very frustrated, and Tim suddenly gets it. They've had the story wrong the whole time.

Jason's death didn't happen because he charged in to face the Joker. It happened because he wanted to save his mother. His mother, who betrayed him, who lied to him and delivered him to the clown on a silver platter.

"Oh," Tim murmurs, because what else can he possibly say? "Oh. God, Jay, I… does Bruce know?"

"About what? Sheila betraying me? No, I don't think so," Jason replies, shaking his head ruefully. "It's just never come up."

"You should-"

"What, tell him? What good would that do?" He crosses his arms, not meeting Tim's eyes. "It's been years, Timmers, and I'm over it. People are going to see me how they want to see me. I don't care anymore."

Tim can see that it's a lie. Jason does care, always has. It's hard for him, dealing with being blamed for his own demise, because Tim can see now that that's what's been happening for years and years. Even when he was first starting out as Robin, he was told not to be impulsive. That was one of the first things drilled into his head, and while it was a good lesson, something that has certainly helped him over the years, how must it make Jason feel? How must it weigh on him to know that his example is used as a cautionary tale of what not to be like, how not to behave?

 _No wonder he's never felt welcome,_ Tim thinks, and right then and there, he vows to change that. He doesn't know what he'll have to do or say, especially to Bruce, but he will find a way to let Jason know that he has a home with them, that he will always, always be welcome.

That it's not his fault.

For now, though, he will start small.

"You know, I've got a safe house a few blocks from here," he starts conversationally. Jason stares at him.

"Good for you?"

" _And_ that safe house happens to have ice cream. Neapolitan," he is sure to add at Jason's rising interest.

"You don't need to check in with Bats?" Jason asks, an eyebrow raised. Tim shrugs.

"He's not the boss of me," he replies, ignoring how much that response makes him sound like a twelve-year-old. "You in?"

Jason grins, all teeth, and clambers to his feet. He tugs his helmet over his face and dusts himself off. "Sure, let's have a sleepover. We can braid each other's hair and make pillow forts. Sounds like fun."

"Want me to paint your nails too?"

"Shut up, let's just get out of the cold. You don't have a spleen."

"...The hell does that have to do with anything?"

But Jason is already gone, jumping from rooftop to rooftop with a grace that Tim sometimes forgets that he is capable of. He smirks and follows, a warm feeling spreading in his gut.

Their family is broken and splintered and far from an easy fix. But everything helps, and Tim thinks that this is a good place to start.

* * *

It is only a few hours later that Tim realizes that his comm was on throughout the entire conversation. He doesn't mention it to Jason, but the next time they all patrol together, Dick seems to be making more of an effort than usual not to be too pushy or judgy. Jason doesn't seem to know what to do with that, but Tim can't help but smile.

 **A/N: This is… a thing. I got frustrated at how people tend to blame Jason for his death, and then I wondered how that makes Jason feel, and then this happened. Idk. I hope you enjoyed.**


End file.
